


I see fire

by madamteatime



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Time Travel, selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1380232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamteatime/pseuds/madamteatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kyhd!Changmin finds himself in the future and a different him</p>
            </blockquote>





	I see fire

**Author's Note:**

> rly dumb fic for everyone who wanted selfcest changmin/changmin lmao

_January 2011_

Sometime around their third comeback stage Changmin decides he can’t do it anymore.

The adrenaline fades and leaves crushing reality behind and he finds himself gasping for breath, overwrought and exhausted from the months of build-up, the endless preparation, the burden of expectation. 

Yunho doesn’t notice – Yunho is tireless and determined, aglow with an almost holy purpose every time they step on stage. Yunho who was born to perform, who almost had it snatched away from him, is back in his element and more on fire than ever. He accepts no weakness in himself and thus none from those around him.

Which leaves Changmin, struggling to keep up, to not disappoint him, to honour the promises they made to each other through months of darkness and anger and tears. But it’s not in his nature to push himself the way Yunho pushes himself, and hairline cracks in his resolve leave him crumpled in a heap at the end of Yunho’s bed.

“Hyung,” he rasps. “I’m tired.”

Yunho doesn’t look up from his phone. “Go to sleep,” he says. His foot nudges Changmin’s side, strokes him soothingly.

Changmin closes his eyes.

“Music Bank tomorrow,” Yunho reminds him.

“I don’t want to.”

The words slip out before he has time to review them in his head. Too late, Changmin presses his lip together.

Yunho puts his phone down slowly.

“What?”

Changmin’s too exhausted to give a fuck. “I told you. I’m tired.”

“Too tired to do recordings? I thought you wanted this comeback to be a success.” Yunho looks bewildered.

“I do. I did. But it’s too hard hyung – I’m only human – ”

“Then what the hell am I, a robot?” 

Now Yunho looks angry, his eyebrows snapping together. Changmin knows he’s whining and that Yunho has no time for whining, but his lack of sympathy makes him angry. He grits his teeth and sits up.

“You might as well be,” he snarls out.

Yunho’s face darkens and Changmin knows he’s gone too far. They’ve endured months of similar insults, whispers of _SM dogs_ , _brainwashed traitors_ , the implications that they are unthinking, unfeeling – inhuman. One day they’ll learn to reclaim the label, to turn android into art, but right now it cuts deep.

“Get out,” Yunho says, but Changmin is already heading for the door, angry and unapologetic.

\- - -

He wanders the halls of the SM building like a restless poltergeist, pausing to glower at a couple of innocent trainees before they quickly run away. 

_So dumb,_ Changmin thinks, and wishes he was still one of them. 

He finds himself in the bowels of the building, on some underground level full of computer mainframes, abandoned filing cabinets and broken desks. A door stands ajar at the end of the hallway and Changmin pushes into the room, unthinking, just wanting a quiet spot to calm his raging thoughts.

The room is completely empty except for a metal box, just large enough to fit a person. A glowing panel on the side draws Changmin forward with helpless curiosity.

_「insert date」_

The panel blinks at him invitingly. Feeling vaguely like he’s stumbled into a weird sci-fi alternate universe, Changmin punches in a date 3 years into the future.

The panel starts to glow red.

A flash of light swallows Changmin and his surprised yelp.

\- - -

 _February 2014_

Changmin wakes with his face plastered to the floor and his head pounding. 

He groans and rolls to his feet, casting one last suspicious glance at the glowing metal box before legging it out of there.

“Hey man I thought you went home,” a dancer hyung calls to him from the second floor as he walks through the lobby.

“Wha – ” Changmin stares around at him. Everything looks slightly different, almost like he’s – 

He grabs a newspaper from a corner shop and stares at the date.

“Well, fuck.”

He’s in the future.

It’s unarguably the coolest thing that’s ever happened to him.

\- - -

Changmin grabs a hoodie off a sales rack and huddles into it, trying to avoid being seen. The urge to find his future self consumes him, just to see, to reassure himself it was all worth it –

He goes to their old dorms but they’re abandoned, not even a single sasaeng hanging around, and knows they must have long since moved out. He has an idea of where he might be; a month ago he’d invested in a penthouse property, thinking vaguely of planning for the future. Although technically now it was years ago.

Oh boy, mentally bridging the timespace leap was going to be fun.

His hunch turns out to be correct – as if the small group of sasaengs hanging out in the bushes weren’t enough of a giveaway, he’s only been there for about ten minutes before he sees a familiar figure step out of a car.

Quiet squeals break out from nearby. Changmin stares.

He looks. . .thinner. Softer. Gone are the muscles he’s bulked up on for their comeback. He’s talking on the phone as he heads into his building, animated and cheerful, brown hair falling into one eye.

Changmin watches himself disappear from sight, still frozen with surprise. He experiences a moment of panic – how was he going to get in and talk to himself? – before he remembers that he’s still Shim fucking Changmin, duh, he can walk right in and nobody was going to stop him.

The guard in the lobby gives him a funny look when he strolls in. 

“Sir didn’t you – just go up?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah.” Changmin fidgets. “I forgot the code for my door. Remind me?”

The guard looks slightly hesitant, but hands over the number.

Changmin has just enough time in the elevator to completely psyche himself out. He barges through the door, awkward and clumsy, and hears his own voice from the kitchen. 

“Hy~ung, tell me!” he’s whining, cute and needling. 

Changmin pauses. Blinks. 

A giggle issues from the kitchen.

_What the fuck?_

“Mm naem naemi,” he hears himself say, and almost gags.

Did he suffer some kind of head injury in the last 3 years? Who the hell is this person wearing his face?

Inexplicably angry, Changmin rounds the corner and glares at his future self.

Wide brown eyes meet his, identical and yet not. He notes that his skin looks softer and paler – all those night creams must be working – before future Changmin’s eyes shutter.

“Hyung I have to go,” he says.

He watches himself hang up with admirable calm. He sets his phone down, then turns to him with a small smile.

“Coffee?”

\- - -

“Before you ask,” Future Changmin says. “I’m you. So I remember this happening as my past self. I’ve been expecting me.”

Changmin’s head hurts, which makes him glare more.

“What the hell is this,” he says. “What – what _happened_ to you?”

Future Changmin shrugs. “What happened is that I’m happy? Successful?” He sends him a sly look. “Not as insecure as I was 3 years ago?”

Changmin growls low in his throat and twists a hand in his shirt. “I’m not insecure.”

“Stop lying to yourself.”

They stare at each other, mirror images of past and future, so perfectly the same even their blinks are synced.

Changmin thinks _fuck it_ and shoves his future self against the wall, caging him between his arms.

“I am not,” he growls. “Insecure.” 

He’s stronger than his other self – stronger and angrier, and future Changmin’s gaze is way too soft and understanding and it’s pissing him off. He sinks a hand in his hair and yanks his head back, and his future self makes a small sound and arches up. Adrenaline surges and wipes his inhibitions clear.

“This is the most narcissistic thing I’ve ever done,” Changmin murmurs and kisses himself.

It’s weird as hell but also feels _right_ , the way nothing has felt right through months of struggling to fill the spaces where five used to stand with just the two of them. He presses closer, kisses harder, and his other self gasps into it. 

Operating on pure instinct, he leads them towards the bedroom and shoves him down on the bed. Future Changmin falls back with a soft sound and gazes up at him, all kiss-red mouth and bright eyes.

“This is taking self-love to new and messed up heights,” he comments.

“Shut up.”

Changmin climbs on top of him and yanks his t-shirt off, flinging it across the room before latching onto his neck, that long, graceful column that always gets him so many compliments. He’s angry and he’s not sure why, except that the more future Changmin sighs and yields under him the angrier it makes him.

“I can’t believe,” he growls. “That I became this – soft, weak thing – ” he bites down, gets a chunk of warm skin between his teeth, and feels the body under him shudder.

“You think this is weakness?”

The other Changmin flips them and gazes down at him. “You think it’s easy, being soft and sweet and _forgiving_? Your anger is your weakness. It’s holding you down, spoiling everything you touch, draining all your energy. Why do you think you’re so tired all the time? I’m not the weak one here – ”

Changmin rolls them and claws at him, shuts him up with spitfire kisses that are more teeth and tongue than lips. He grinds down, shoves a hand in silk hair and pulls, and his other self squirms and whimpers and yields. He yields as his clothes are torn off, as Changmin fumbles under his pillow for the lube he knows will be there and shoves slicked fingers into him with no warning or finesse. He knows his own body, knows all the things that make him weak with arousal, and he plays himself like a fine-tuned instrument. He pushes into his own tight heat, head spinning, too far gone to care about semantics, and a long, low groan echoes through the room.

He pants against a pale cheek, muscles straining, amazed at how gracefully future Changmin melts under him. It’s an odd act of vanity, fucking himself, watching the play of pain and heat and desperation across his own face – subtly changed, but still his. 

Changmin fucks, hard and unforgiving. His future self wraps long legs around his waist and digs his nails into his shoulders, head thrown back and soft cries spilling from his mouth with each thrust. He’s magnificent, a beautiful sweaty mess, and for the first time Changmin truly feels like a god. He bends him in half and drives into him, skin against skin, their moans harmonised in perfect, identical pitch. 

“Look at me,” Changmin pants, pressing their foreheads together, and dazed brown eyes meet his. Their eyelashes brush, lips inches apart, and in that moment of clarity Changmin cries out and comes, spilling hot and wet and sticky sweet.

Future Changmin gasps. His head goes back, hand working over his cock, and Changmin reaches down and jerks him off together. They find all his sensitive spots with the acute knowledge of experience, tugging and stroking until he keens low in his throat and goes over, covering their hands in pearly seed.

Changmin pulls out with a low groan and rolls onto his back. Tears prickle the corner of his eyes. He swallows and feels soft lips press against his throat.

“Sweet lost baby,” his other self murmurs, running a gentle hand through his hair. “You’ll make us sick with worry.”

“Does it get easier?” he whispers.

“Exponentially.” Future Changmin pulls him into his arms and strokes his back. “You’re going to be great. Have faith in yourself. Have faith in hyung – he’s already sorry we fought, by the way.”

He smiles down at him and kisses his cheek. “So don’t be afraid anymore, okay?”

Changmin closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of himself, his sweat and sex and skin. 

“Okay,” he whispers.

Their legs tangle, chests pressed together and hands clasped in mirrored perfection.


End file.
